


Cherry Corvette

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucifer walks into the shop, all Sam can think of is how badly he'd like to throw the man over the hood of the nearest car and have his way with him. In this case the nearest car is a Chevrolet Corvette. It's a '68, and Dean is going to kill him if he as much as breathes on the shiny cherry-red surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Corvette

**Cherry Corvette**

When Lucifer walks into the shop, all Sam can think of is how badly he'd like to throw the man over the hood of the nearest car and have his way with him. In this case the nearest car is a Chevrolet Corvette. It's a '68, and Dean is going to kill him if he as much as breathes on the shiny cherry-red surface. 

"You're Dean's brother," Lucifer says. It's not a question, they have met before, briefly, at Cas and Dean's engagement party. "You told me you were a lawyer, and now you're selling cars?"

"Dean's occupied. Business. I had the day off, so I'm looking after the shop. And my name is Sam," Sam says coldly. Sam surely doesn't like that Lucifer has forgotten his name. There is a reason for Sam's displeasure, of course: ever since Castiel introduced Lucifer to him a few weeks ago, Sam has been dreaming dirty dreams about Castiel's gorgeous brother. Dirty dreams, and soft dreams, and dreams of someone to wake up with in the morning. Dreams of belonging. Lucifer is damned hot, and Sam would love to have Lucifer moaning his name repeatedly, morning, evening _and_ night, and if Lucifer can't remember an ordinary one-syllable name, it isn't gonna happen, is it?

"I know your name." Lucifer smirks. "And now I know you're easily offended. Not terribly convenient, for a lawyer, I mean." He ignores Sam in favor of the shiny convertible. "7.0 liter, big-block V8," Lucifer says, sliding his hand across the domed hood and over the 427 emblem. 

Sam still would like to have Lucifer on his back on the car, riding him until he doesn't care whether he's on a Corvette, a Chevelle or a Colorado. But there is so much Sam wants that he won't ever have.

"It's a car," Sam says. "It has wheels. It moves." Okay, so he doesn't know shit about the Chevys that Dean restores and sells, except what he picked up through the years when Dean was fiddling with the Impala. "So what is it?" he can't stop himself from asking. Lucifer rubs him the wrong way. "Midlife crisis? A girl half your age that you need to impress? Investment?"

Lucifer caresses the voluptuous curve of the front. "Would you believe me if I told you I just want nice wheels?"

Sam snorts. In this case the wheels have a $72,000 price tag to go with the cherry paint and the black leather seats. It's classical midlife crisis. "No."

"I'm not in the habit of lying." Lucifer studies Sam, blatantly checking him out. "And a _guy_ half my age would suit me much better." Lucifer purses his mouth. "Do you think I can talk Dean into letting you come with the car? Surely he's interested in making a package deal? I want a red sports car and a handsome young lawyer for my birthday. Thought I'd start early and get the car now, working my way up to the lawyer."

"You're insane." Sam can't stop himself from laughing. "You're living the cliché, dude. And it'll look better with a girl if you want to do it the traditional way, but we don't have any available, sorry. We can order one for you, because it sounds to me as if you've run out of charm and bad pickup lines."

"I only have good ones left. Want one?" Lucifer smiles, reminding Sam that he needs to watch _Sharknado_ at some point this week.

"I doubt that you can come up with something I haven't heard before." Sam mirrors the cruel smile. "So... did you come here to flirt, or do you want a ride?" Realizing what he just said, Sam shuts his mouth, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "I mean—"

"Yes, please, Sam." Now Lucifer looks positively evil. "I would love to ride your co—Corvette."

Sam chuckles, suppressing the need to roll his eyes at Lucifer's awful pun. "If that's all you're able to come up with..."

"Oh, I'm sure I can come—"

"No! Don't!" Sam cries. "Please, mercy?"

"For now. If you show me the car and take me for a test drive. In the car. Of the car," Lucifer elaborates, not at all trying to hide his razor-sharp grin. "Although..." He drags the word out, letting it slide slowly through his lips almost sultrily. He takes a step closer to Sam, enough to get into Sam's comfort zone. 

"No," Sam says firmly, ignoring the shiver of lust that surges through him at the thought of a Lucifer test drive. "If you mean it, about the test, I'll get the keys." He's about to turn on his heel when Lucifer stops him, hand on his arm.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Sam, not that it wasn't a very pleasant surprise. I really _did_ come to see the Corvette; Dean told me about her at the party. I've been looking for this particular model for some time."

"Oh." Sam's face falls and he can't hide it. It's not that he had expected Lucifer to show up to court him; they've spoken twice and maybe exchanged a few appreciative glances. He'd hoped, though, that maybe, perhaps, that there had been more than just the appreciation.

" _And_ I meant to lure Dean into giving me your phone number, so I could ask you out." Lucifer's smile turns soft. "I'd love to get to know you better. Even if it might cost me—"He turns to look at the Corvette's price tag. "72 grand." Lucifer touches the car again, almost lovingly. "That's fine, I planned to buy it anyway. Dean says that she's in perfect shape, and he surely wasn't lying. She's gorgeous. I really need something flashy to go with my new much-younger-than-me boy-toy."

"I didn't say yes, did I?" Sam asks. It's a rhetoric question, of course. He can't say no to Lucifer. He's not going to. "Not yet."

Lucifer's soft laughter follows him as he hurries to get the keys and to alert one of the mechanics from the workshop behind the dealership.

*

Sam is used to the deep roar of the Impala, and to the gentle purr of his own brand new Chevy Volt. Compared to those, the Corvette is like a tiger, all claws and sharp, snarly sound. She corners like a cheetah. It's a wet dream on wheels, Sam has to admit that. Even the soft leather seat slides along his spine, warm and pliant, caressing his back every time he moves.

Lucifer handles the manual transmission as if he has done nothing else his entire life. Grinning like a twelve-year-old, he handles the car as if that's all he wants from life, driving a red Corvette. Oh, Sam knows that grin. It's the same grin that Dean has when he sends the Impala at full throttle down a stretch of empty highway.

"In 1968, this particular car was the fastest accelerating standard car in the world," Lucifer says, and his voice is full of awe. "And she still runs with the best. 60 in 6.0."

Yeah, lucky Sam. Another car geek. He sighs and smiles, because somehow it's familiar. Sam likes familiar to go with the unknown, with the unexplored road. With the unexplored possibilities that Lucifer presents.

The wind is full of spring and birds. The breeze is pleasantly warm and Sam finds that he enjoys himself. They drive through the suburbs, the slick race car out of place here, where everything is so damned ordinary. Everything but Lucifer and his red Corvette. The V8 drowns out the sounds of lawn mowers and sprinklers, swallowing mile after mile as they leave the 1.8-kid-average-family area, finally reaching the long line of empty blacktop that leads far into the similarly empty farmland. 

Lucifer turns his head to look at Sam. "Seatbelt." He reaches over and slides his hand down Sam's chest, slowly. "Clever boy."

Sam holds back the slight moan that he'd have liked to make at the lazy, intimate touch. Instead he fakes amused outrage. "Seriously? Worst excuse ever!"

"Seriously." Lucifer looks in the rear view mirror, and changes gear. The Corvette answers immediately, replying to his request with an aggressive roar. Sam is thrown back into the seat as the wheels spin and the engine churns out enough torque to rotate the entire globe. The world becomes a blur, only the miles of smooth, dark tarmac seem to stay the same. 

80\. 100. 120. 125. 

Sam gasps for air, relieved as the speedometer arm stalls and refuses to turn clockwise any further. The rush of speed and adrenalin is kicking in. Without thinking, Sam reaches out for something to hold on to. His hand lands on Lucifer's thigh. The car swerves slightly, and Sam clutches at Lucifer's leg. "Whoa," he manages, holding on for dear life. "Could we postpone the trip to Hell a decade or five?"

Lucifer eases the pressure on the speeder and 60 feels slow. "It's a test ride. We need to take it to the limit," he says, sending Sam a decidedly wicked look. "Don't hold back."

Speed, sex, freedom. It's an exhilarating cocktail, Sam admits, he can feel its effect too. He is suddenly fighting for air, his breath taken away by the mere image of having Lucifer take him in this car, now, when they are both high on 125 mph and danger and the obvious attraction between them. 

"I won't." Sam decides to take Lucifer up on the obvious challenge. He eases the pressure on Lucifer's thigh, sliding his hand sensually down and back up, letting it rest there like a gentle promise, an inch from Lucifer's crotch. Lucifer shifts in the seat. Sam can't help but notice that Lucifer is hard, his erection stretching the fine wool of his pants. Sam moves his hand the last inch, cupping Lucifer's cock, safety be damned.

"Sam?" Lucifer moans, his need turned into a hard, white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

"Find a place to stop. Now."

Lucifer makes this _sound_ , a choked whine that barely leaves his throat, and it makes Sam lose it. Lose his usual restrained correctness, his lawyer persona, his polite, caring facade. "You have sixty seconds before I start sucking you off," he whispers into Lucifer's ear. "If you're lucky."

It takes fifty seconds before Lucifer turns the Corvette to the right, down a narrow dirt road that disappears into a large group of trees. "Good enough?" Lucifer asks, his pupils lust-blown and dark, the ice-blue eyes burning from desire. "Sam..."

And then they are kissing; a desperate, wanton kiss. Lucifer's arms are wrapped around Sam's neck, the seat belt stretched to its limit. Sam fumbles with it and it snaps free, giving him room to move closer. Somehow Lucifer has gotten out of his seat belt too, and the kiss turns into more. There is passionate petting, hands straying under clothes and over sensitive spots. Lucifer makes a slack-jawed moan as Sam lets him breathe, both of them in severe need of air. Lucifer's shirt is halfway unbuttoned, and Sam's pants are open, wet spot spreading over the front of his boxer-briefs. How it happened, Sam isn't sure; he can barely remember his own name. Lucifer's, though, he recalls very well. He whispers it, softly, into the skin of Lucifer's slender neck, into the the curve of his ear, into his mouth when Sam moves again, initiating yet another wet, demanding kiss.

Lucifer smells like the break of spring, of pure snow and of snow-covered mountains, that icy, clean smell, new and ancient at the same time. It mixes with the scent of leather and the smell of the scorching hot hellfire engine. Sam thinks that he can never again ride this car without getting aroused. Probably a win-win situation. Sam indulges in his new-born fetish, squeezing the leather and kissing Lucifer over and over until Lucifer's moans are unrestrained and loud.

"Push the seat back," Sam demands, fighting to wrap his huge body and long legs around the stick and the center console.

He doesn't care that the wheel is digging into his back, or that his knee probably will be rubbed raw against the door. With hard hands pulling him close, Sam straddles Lucifer's lap, moaning deeply as he lets his dick slide along Lucifer's cashmere-covered length. Their hands collide in the attempt to get pants open and briefs shoved down to their knees. Sam lets out a chuckle at their clumsy attempts at getting naked. The chuckle turns into a moan, Sam's head thrown back in pure abandon and relief as Lucifer's fingers close around his hard dick. Fuck, it feels so good! Dazed, Sam opens his eyes, his gaze locked with Lucifer's. 

"Please?" he sighs, so caught up in need and want that he is shivering. Slowly Sam opens his shirt, inadvertently seductive, wanting Lucifer's lips on him, anywhere, everywhere. 

"I'll please," Lucifer groans, his expression hungry. "I'll please you in any way you want it. You're mine, Sam," he adds, staring up at Sam as if he's everything Lucifer ever wished for. "I want you to be mine."

Entangled, their fingers close around their aligned cocks, and right there and then, Sam is willingly agreeing to anything that Lucifer suggests. "You're mine, too," he manages, words broken up by the insistent moans which Sam has absolutely no control over; they merely escape his throat, revealing readily how much he _wants_. He is falling hard and fast, and right now that is how he likes it. Hard and fast car, hard and fast sex. Hard and fast love. "I want you to be mine too!"

Then Lucifer silences him, demanding Sam's mouth in yet another deep and wet kiss, tongues busy with this other very pleasant task. Sucking on Lucifer's tongue, Sam thrusts into Lucifer's fist, warm and a bit slick from a few drops of pre-come. They share moans, Sam licking at Lucifer's lips, biting at them, hard enough to make Lucifer squirm under him. It's not enough. Sam needs more, all he can get. Lucifer's dick is large, fat. Sam wants it. He wants it in him, wants Lucifer to fuck him into oblivion. Somehow Lucifer senses Sam's need, his right-hand fingers following Sam's spine to his ass, between his cheeks. Sam lets out a rough cry as Lucifer's fingers brush gently, almost too gently, over his hole. 

"Want you," Sam babbles, his head hid at Lucifer's neck. Lucifer keeps the pressure low, massaging Sam with light, secure movements. "I want it!" Sam gets a grip. He straightens up, looking at Lucifer with hooded eyes, lost in his lust. "I want to ride you. I fucking want to ride you until you can't hold back, and you beg me to let you come."

"We can't," Lucifer argues, almost coherent and restrained. "We don't have anything. I'll never hurt you, Sam."

"I know." Sam wishes they had lube, any lube. His lust-addled brain gets a moment of reprieve, enough to make him think. "Wait." He turns around, one hand on Lucifer's shoulder, fumbling to reach the glove compartment that is nothing but a set of leather-lined pockets, attached to the left side dash.

Lucifer is moaning and laughing at the same time. "If Dean actually keeps K.Y. in my car, I am not sure I'll ever be able to stop thinking of _why_ ," Lucifer says. Sam, unfortunately, shares that line of thought, one he really doesn't want to entertain. Only right this instant, Sam doesn't care if Dean has fucked Cas on every remotely useful surface of the car, not as long as he has left lube somewhere. Preferably in a bottle.

Sam rummages around blindly, between manuals, cleansing wipes and whatever small spare parts Dean has shoved in there. He closes his hand around a tube. "Soy grease," Sam reads aloud, unable to keep in a smile. So Dean is becoming environmentally conscious? "Premium biodegradable food grade grease." Oh, thank God! Not K.Y. but actually something useful.

"Tested two weeks ago. Clean," Lucifer says, taking the opportunity to share that bit of important and not very sexy information. "You?"

"Never did it without. I'm good." Sam frowns, then hurries to kiss Lucifer again, realizing that Lucifer tested for him, to be sure. As Lucifer said, he'd never hurt Sam. Suddenly the cold, brutal practicality of things seems almost romantic.

Impatient, Sam smothers his fingers with grease, reaching behind himself. Lucifer's fingers are there, too, one slipping in along Sam's. The stretch burns, and Sam hisses in pleasure and a little in pain as he slips in a second finger along the two already there. 

Sam tugs at Lucifer's hair, demanding access to bite at Lucifer's neck, sucking cherry-red marks into the white skin, assessing his claim. Lucifer arches up from the seat, muscles taut and tense, his cock rock hard. 

"Sam, yes... God, please." Lucifer is delightfully sexy when he's losing it. Sam lets Lucifer play with his ass while he lets himself float along with the ebb and flow of pleasure spiced with a little pain. Sam's so fucking aroused, and yet he wants this state to last into eternity. Anticipation turns the moment into a state of perfection that Sam has rarely experienced. He is wanted, and somehow he knows without being told that Lucifer is going to give him everything he needs right now.

And Sam finally takes what he wants.

Guiding Lucifer into him, sinking down on Lucifer's cock, Sam is cruel enough to drag it out, watching the expressions flicker across Lucifer's face. Lust, need and finally, as Sam starts moving, abandon. Lucifer gives in, surrenders as Sam rides him. Slow at first, then faster. There is no blinding acceleration now, only the lazy flood of arousal that turns into wave after wave of intense pleasure. 

Curling his fingers into and around Lucifer's shirt, Sam picks up pace, snapping his hips, forcing Lucifer's dick in deep. Lucifer's lips are parted, an invitation that Sam can't resist. He leans over Lucifer, elbows on his shoulders, hands buried in his hair as he takes Lucifer's mouth, too, fucks it with his tongue until Lucifer can't breathe. Then Sam rides Lucifer hard, harder, until he's gasping for air, desperately trying to get more oxygen into his lungs. Lucifer moans little enticing endearments into Sam's ear, kissing his way to Sam's mouth again, whispering more, dirtier, encouragements on the way to his lips. 

Sam squeezes around Lucifer. He wants to see him come, and come apart under him. "Jerk me off," Sam demands, breaking their kiss when Lucifer thrusts upwards, fucking up into Sam's slick, tight channel. "Want to come with you deep in me," Sam moans, undulating his hips mercilessly, lost in the sensation of Lucifer's big cock moving inside him.

Lucifer obeys eagerly. He's good. He grabs Sam's cock in a tight grip, looking up at him with a challenging look. Oh, he's good, and he knows it. When Lucifer's slick thumb slides over the head of Sam's cock, rubbing at the slit, Sam knows it is war and that he's losing. It takes exactly fifteen seconds and yet another teasing thumb over his slit before Sam throws his head back, fucking himself hard on Lucifer's dick a few times, before he comes, entirely _gone_ when the orgasm hits him.

Halfway unconscious, Sam registers Lucifer's need, reacting to it by mere instinct. He gets up on his knees, allowing Lucifer room to ram hard into him. Sam moans in pleasure. He can't come again, but the fast, brutal slide of the cock over his prostate feels damned good. Lucifer's fingers dig into Sam's ass, pulling him down, up, down a few more times before Lucifer's half-choked moans and the slight trickle of soy oil and semen running down Sam's thigh announce that Lucifer has found his pleasure too. 

Sam slumps down, Lucifer's arms around him, satisfied and spent. Lucifer makes little unintelligible sounds, maybe meant to calm them both. 

"Some test drive, huh?" Lucifer finally says, when they can both breathe.

"I think I begin to like classic cars," Sam admits as he caresses Lucifer's cheek. "And perhaps their drivers."

"Perhaps?" Lucifer looks arrogantly dissatisfied. "After this you should worship me." He smiles and demands yet another kiss. Sam gives in very willingly. "I'm just that good."

"In your dreams," Sam huffs, kissing Lucifer again. He don't think he will ever tire of that. "I admit that I really like the Corvette, though."

*

They drive back to the city at a leisurely pace. They have to, because it's impossible for Lucifer to change gears without letting go of Sam's hand, something he seems quite adverse to. Sam's fine with that. He likes slow when it comes to cars, and fast when it comes to Lucifer. Although mixing the two has it advantages, he has to admit that. No matter the pace, he feels happy. Happy and sore.

Dean is back, and clearly he's been expecting Sam back. Yesterday. Crossed arms, an impatiently tapping boot, Dean is waiting for them outside. Lucifer stops the car right in front of him, sending him a wicked grin. 

Dean is about as quick on the uptake as the Corvette. "You didn't?" He makes a face, glaring at Sam. "You are doing the cleanup, dude."

"Not necessary," Lucifer says and pulls out a black Amex. "I want it." He leans across Sam, lips brushing over his on the way. "And I want Sam. The car is no fun without the extras."

"No, you—" Sam attempts, but is cut off immediately by Dean.

"Deal. No guarantees, though. On my brother. He's a bit of a fixer-upper. He's as-is. And he's still doing the cleanup."

Sam wants to protest, but he's smiling too widely. And then Lucifer is kissing him. Lucifer kisses him until Dean is back with the card and a contract and Sam really can't be bothered to argue against more kissing.

 

**Six Months Later**

Sam is hanging on to the top of the windscreen, his chest resting on the Corvette's warm hood. His legs are spread wide, his ass in the air as Lucifer's strong fingers dig into the soft skin across his hipbones. Sam growls, pushing back, rubbing himself wantonly against Lucifer's naked cock. "Get it in me, fuck me, do something!" Sam demands, eager to get Lucifer's thick cock rammed hard up his ass. 

Lucifer is cruel. He rubs the slick tip of his dick over Sam's dripping hole slowly, teasing him relentlessly. "I love it when you're all romantic and gentle," Lucifer whispers, sliding in, excruciatingly slow, keeping Sam's hips steady so that he can't move. It's close to driving Sam insane. "I love it when you're all horny and desperate," he murmurs, licking at Sam's ear as he leans over him, pressing him down on the red metal, forcing Sam's cock to rub over the smooth surface. 

Sam moans. He's sure he was taught how to speak; unfortunately he's forgotten exactly how to get the words out.

"I love you when you're wanton, and when you're not," Lucifer says, moving back a little before he snaps his hips hard, once, cock so deep in Sam that his balls are pressed against Sam's.

Sam shivers, his eyes closed in deep pleasure. Lucifer's voice, the things he says could make Sam come. Getting fucked over the hood of Lucifer's car, Lucifer whispering filth in his ear, is Sam's favorite pastime, and Sam is very, very close to coming. It's a frigging fetish. Sam loves the car and everything it means to them, the way they fuck on it, and in it. Sam rubs his cock against the hood, tiny movements, it's all that Lucifer allows him. It's damned good. 

"I love it when you want me so badly, like this, like now." Lucifer presses a kiss to Sam's neck. His lips don't move away, but move over Sam's skin, gently. "I love it when you're so close to coming, and yet you don't give in." But Lucifer gives in, and he starts thrusting into Sam, slowly, making sure that every stroke brings Sam as much pleasure as possible. 

Sam whimpers. He really can't hold back much longer. He cries out, fingers white as he claws at the chrome frame, holding on to the Corvette and to the orgasm for just a few seconds longer. 

"I love it when you lose it," Lucifer moans, close, Sam can hear it, feel it in the way Lucifer's thrusts get shorter and faster. "I love you, Sam."

"God," Sam groans. That's it. He can't. He simply can't. He comes, his mouth forming a constant litany of _I love yous_. Significant words he'd wanted to say for months, words that can no longer be tamed and subdued into quiet obedience. "I love you, too," he moans as he turns in Lucifer's arms, limp and lazy, smearing the Corvette with semen and oil.

The double garage smells of gasoline and sweat and sex, and Sam loves it. Just like he loves how Lucifer fits into his embrace, loves how he is breathless from satisfaction, loves how he tilts his head back to look up at Sam with needy possessiveness. 

Lucifer smiles, his lips half-curled as if the pleasure lingers still. He caresses Sam's back gently, slow, calming movements. He looks away, at the empty spot next to the Corvette. "You know there's room for another car in here. A waste not to use it. I don't think my midlife crisis needs more space."

Sam frowns. "What—"

"You could store your Volt here." Lucifer's eyes narrow, crows' feet revealing a smile that hasn't yet reached his mouth. "And there is room for you too. In the house. In my bed."

Sam's heart stops only to jump start a few seconds later, a million beats per hour. "Are... are you asking me to move in with—"

"Yes. Yes?"

Sam takes a deep breath. He can feel the low-simmering joy spreading from his busy heart into his limbs, turning into excitement and anticipation and pure, undiluted happiness. The smile that breaks out on his face is so wide it hurts and it only gets worse because Lucifer instantly knows what the smile means. 

Sam doesn't need to say it, but he says it anyway. "Yes, Lucifer. Yes."


End file.
